Devouring Monarch: Rebirth of the Profane Phoenix - Chapter 512: The Black Star

An ordinary high school boy named Max is in his basement watching porn and masturbating. When suddenly, a pop-up ad covered the whole screen!

Following the death of his popular online persona, seventeen-year-old Suzuki Mato decides it's time to retire from professional VR gaming. However, his plans are abruptly cut short when he's kidnapped from his high school and forced to be a guinea pig for Genaco Gaming, the world's largest esports and entertainment company. Armed with nothing but his wit and a new online persona, he's thrown headfirst into the virtual reality of “Live No Evil,” a VRMMORPG littered with overpowered bosses, secretive NPCs, and backstabbing gods. His mission? Find a way to conquer this new world and get back at the company that took over his life, all while avoiding 'Parallel' -- a condition that would make it impossible to separate his real and virtual personalities. Because in a world obsessed with VR gaming, Parallel means death, and Suzuki just doesn't have time for that...

Strength.... That's all that matters in the end.

After being abandoned by his own family, and shunned for having no mana in a world dominated by magic, ex-prince Arvell Relas Vispia was forced to live on the streets with whatever meagre money he had left.

However, fate had something else in store for Arvell.

After meeting the spirit inhabiting his amulet, Arvell gets reborn as a Nephilim.

A being that has the powers of a god.

Time, Space, Life, Death.

All submitted to the authority of a Nephilim.

Betrayed by those he once called family, Arvell swore to get revenge.

Revenge on all those that mocked him and shunned him as a 'failure.'

Revenge on those who betrayed him without a second thought.

This is a tale of how a young prince shunned by the world as a 'failure' rises and ascends to the pinnacle of strength.

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.